


Reaping

by hjea



Series: Seasons [4]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:16:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8172883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjea/pseuds/hjea
Summary: It's fall again and Illya comes home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've finally managed to write a story about Gaby and Illya's relationship that actually puts them both in the same room together. Aren't you all proud of me? This fic builds very much on the previous ones in my series, [Seasons](http://archiveofourown.org/series/396319), and probably won't make a lot of sense without reading those ones first.
> 
> My thanks once again to [Xtine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/xtinethepirate) for all the cheerleading and editing help. The subtext is all for you, darling. ;)

Gaby half-walked, half-ran from the tube station to the U.N.C.L.E. offices, not taking the time to enjoy the late September sun as she made her way quickly through the building. “I know, I know,” Gaby said, hands raised in supplication as she slipped past Waverly’s secretary, smiling gamely as the other woman’s mouth opened in mute protest, “I’m not really here, I’m finishing the Kleiner translation at home. But I just need one _little_ answer from Waverly--and a couple files--honestly, he won’t mind.” 

“Bu--Ms. Teller!” The secretary clattered to her feet, rushing to follow Gaby around the corner to Waverly’s office door. Gaby rolled her eyes; there was something to be said for the woman’s loyalty to her post but for god’s sake she’d only be a minute. She knocked perfunctorily at Waverly’s door, and then reached down to turn the handle. 

“Ms. Teller, he’s _with_ someone!” 

Gaby froze. Through the open door, she saw a very familiar back, and then a very familiar face turned slowly toward her. 

“Ah. Agent Teller.” Waverly shuffled some papers around his desk, his cool demeanor faltering slightly. “Yes, that’s quite all right, Agnes,” He waved his horrified-looking secretary away. “Yes, uh, Gaby. I was just about to have you called in.” 

Gaby swallowed with a dry click in her throat. “Illya.” She finally managed, eyes glued on the man standing in front of Waverly’s desk. 

He stared back, looking as stunned as she felt. “Hello, Gaby.” 

Waverly cleared his throat and spoke brusquely, clearly attempting to dispel the awkwardness from the room. “Quite a surprise to get the call from our old friend Comrade Smirnov that we could expect Agent Kuryakin’s secondment to be reinstated today. Of course, U.N.C.L.E. is very glad the KGB can spare you once again, old boy.” 

“Uh yes.” Illya blinked, and then apparently realizing he was still staring at Gaby managed to turn back to Waverly. “I only found out myself forty-eight hours ago. Of my assignment, that is.” 

Waverly nodded. “Well, we do like to keep each other on our toes in the business, do we not?” 

“How long?” Gaby interrupted, wincing a little at the way her voice cracked in the suddenly silent room. 

“My plane landed an hour ago.” Illya still faced Waverly, but he shot her a quick look over his shoulder. “I had to come here first. Of course. To check in.” His eyes flashed in what she thought could have been beseechment, or a plea for understanding. It was hard to interpret.

“Indeed.” Waverly coughed once again. “Well, you’ve done that now, and I assume you must be tired from your journey so why don’t we take care of all the meetings and paperwork tomorrow?” He walked around the desk and offered Illya a brief handshake, before gently ushering him to the door. “Welcome back, Kuryakin.” His gaze landed on Gaby, where she hadn’t moved from her spot in the doorway. “Yes, and Agent Teller? Given the circumstances I believe we can afford to wait a couple of more days for the Kleiner report. Don’t you agree?” 

“Um.” Gaby managed, before Waverly shut the door gently in her face, leaving her and Illya alone in the empty hallway. 

Gaby had imagined what her reunion with Illya would be like for the better part of a year. She’d imagined running into his arms and kissing him, had imagined impassioned yelling, bitter fighting, and in weaker moments had imagined simply pushing him against the nearest available surface and having her way with him. What she hadn’t imagined was this… frozen immobility. 

“You, uh,” she took half a step back and tilted her head up to get a better look at Illya. “You look the same.” He did too, remarkably unchanged. From his neatly combed blond hair to his well-polished shoes, he was the very picture of the man who had stiffly turned his back on her in the airport twelve months ago and walked away while she stood, and watched, and furiously promised herself she wouldn’t cry. 

“You look the same as well.” Illya’s gaze drifted down her body, and Gaby squirmed, wondering what kind of sight she made in plain slacks, a rumpled blouse, and the old jacket she had haphazardly thrown around her shoulders. “Well, your hair.” Illya amended. 

“My hair?” Gaby raised a hand to her head and realized she hadn’t put it up in her customary twist before leaving home. 

“Yes. It’s shorter.” 

“Oh, yes.” Gaby lowered her hand. “It’s easier.” 

Illya shifted forward and opened his hand, and for a second Gaby thought he was going to reach for her, touch the curling ends of her hair, pull her closer. But he stopped. 

“Where is--” 

“Solo?” Gaby interrupted quickly. “He’s here in London. In my flat, actually.” 

Illya stared at her, his blue eyes dark and unreadable for a moment before he spoke again. “That is not who I meant.” 

“No.” Gaby sighed. “I know. He’s at home. With Napoleon.” She took a deep breath. “I suppose you want to see him?” 

Illya nodded once, adam's apple dipping as he gruffly replied. “Very much.” 

\--

Gaby waved down a taxi instead of walking Illya back to the underground, assuming he would have at least a few bags with him. But the suitcase he picked up by the front desk looked pathetically small in his large grip, better suited to someone who had been away for a quick business trip. Gaby felt a lump form in her throat as he slid it into the car with them, neatly stowing it beneath the driver’s seat with no trouble. She swallowed and quickly looked out the window as they pulled away, struggling to get her ridiculous emotions under control. 

They sat silently for most of the journey, all too aware of the driver’s presence as well as the thick air of polite awkwardness that lay between them. Illya finally murmured quietly, “You’re still in the same place.” 

“Yes. It’s a nice enough flat in a good location. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Illya shrugged one shoulder. “I had imagined you might want to move somewhere bigger. A house maybe, further outside the city.” 

“No, I never felt the need. I can’t imagine needing that much extra space.” 

Illya grunted, in what was probably approval, and Gaby felt a spike of irritation. She hadn’t _not_ moved out of any kind of socialist ideal, or to meet with his approbation. It simply hadn’t occurred to her to uproot herself in the middle of a year already full of upheaval. She fought down the instinct to say something biting--maybe a pointed remark about wanting to move but not having the help or resources--if only to get a reaction from him. She certainly would have said something like it once. But it didn’t seem right, with him sitting beside her so strangely meek and mild. With another glance at him from the corner of her eye, Gaby suddenly realized how nervous he was, hands opening and closing fitfully in his lap. She couldn’t tell if the realization made her less irritated with him or more. She closed her eyes wearily, wishing she could feel at least some joy at his sudden return, instead of feeling every single thing but. 

The taxi turned onto her street and Gaby leaned forward to pay the driver just as Illya did the same. She blushed. “I didn’t think you would have any--” 

“No, I have money from the airport,” Illya flushed back, as the driver looked back and forth between them indifferently before making his own mind up and plucking the notes from Illya’s hand.

Gaby led the way silently up the path of her building as Illya trailed a few steps, pausing only to stare at the buggy parked inside the front gate. He didn’t say anything. 

\--

Napoleon opened the flat’s door from the inside before Gaby had even pulled the key from her handbag. He grinned unabashedly at them both and Gaby rolled her eyes. “Waverly called ahead, didn’t he?” 

“There may have been a brief warning issued.” Napoleon reached around Gaby, pushing her awkwardly into the doorframe, to shake Illya’s hand. 

“Welcome home, Peril.” 

Gaby grunted in annoyance at the display of male bonding and pushed back at Napoleon so she could enter her own home. She tossed her jacket on a chair and then turned back, hands perched on her hips. “Well?” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you coming in?” 

Napoleon finally stepped aside to allow Illya past the threshold and closed the door behind him. Illya took a few hesitant steps through the hall into the main room and carefully set his suitcase down. His eyes swept around. “Is-” 

“--He’s sleeping,” Napoleon answered before Gaby could. “Peril, you look exactly the same as the last I saw you. They even let you change your clothes on the other side of the Iron Curtain anymore?” 

Illya snorted, and for the first time Gaby saw a hint of genuine amusement under his robotically polite façade. 

“I think this is a new look for you, Cowboy.” Illya gestured at Napoleon, and Gaby took in the old blanket flung across his shoulder as a burp cloth and the rubber nipple held apparently forgotten in his hand. It was such a disturbingly normal image to her now, she hadn’t thought about how… incongruous it would seem to Illya. 

Napoleon shrugged. “Nanny of the year, that’s me.” 

Gaby rolled her eyes again. “He has a nanny. A real one. But she’s not in today and I needed to run to the office quickly so…” 

“I’m the backup.” Napoleon’s eyes were twinkling in amusement. “Agent Teller here doesn’t trust anyone else within two feet without them receiving a thorough vetting from every agency she can strongarm into it.”

Gaby pursed her lips. “Can you blame me?” 

Napoleon shot a glance across the room at her, sobering as he saw the expression on her face. “No, I suppose not.” He coughed, eyes darting between Illya and Gaby as the mood shifted once more between them. “Well, you kids obviously have a lot to talk about. Uh…” He pulled the blanket off his shoulder and handed both it and the nipple to Illya, who took them automatically with a bemused expression. “There you go, Peril. Never too late to learn.” He clapped him on the back and then walked to the closet and pulled his jacket on with practiced ease. 

“Don’t have too much fun without me.” Napoleon added with a wink before he slid quickly out the door. 

\--

Illya waited until the sound of Napoleon’s retreating steps disappeared and then set the baby’s things carefully down on Gaby’s coffee table. He shot a quick glance towards the bedrooms and then back at Gaby, who raised her eyebrows challengingly. Illya looked away. “If he’s asleep I wouldn’t want to…” 

Gaby, who couldn’t claim to be the most rule-following of mothers at the best of times, had still figured out “never wake a sleeping baby” fairly early and stuck to it. But she shook her head, relenting. “No, it doesn’t matter. And I think you’ve both waited long enough now, haven’t you?” 

Illya looked at her with such a grave mix of eagerness and anxiety on his face that she couldn’t help finally smiling up at him. “Come and meet your son.” 

The nursery was dark when Gaby pushed the door open carefully, mindful of the squeaky hinges that she never seemed to get around to fixing. Napoleon had closed the curtains completely when he had put the baby down earlier, and Gaby stepped around to the window and twitched one side open so that the room’s occupant would at least be partially visible to his visitors. 

Gaby turned around to grip one side of the crib’s rails and watched Illya expectantly. He hovered in the doorway, looking more unsure of himself than ever, and Gaby wondered for a moment if she would have to go back to pull him in the room. Finally, he took a step toward the crib. Gaby held her breath, wishing she had any clue as to what Illya was feeling as he finally saw his child for the first time. 

“He has a lot of hair.” 

Gaby blinked and looked down at her peacefully sleeping son. He had kicked off his blanket, exposing his chubby knees, and had one thumb jammed in his mouth while the other hand lay curled up beside his head. His thick blond hair was sticking up in every direction, as it inevitably managed to when he was set down for more than five minutes. 

Gaby flicked her eyes up to Illya, who gripped the opposite rail, eyes staring unblinking at the baby. 

“He does.” Gaby whispered. “I seem to spend all my time brushing it down but it just… pfft.” With one hand she gestured upwards from her head, fingers spread wide. 

Illya chuckled softly, and touched a hand to his own carefully combed hair. “Takes a lot of pomade to tame.” 

Gaby could remember the feel of Illya’s hair under her hands, how thick and soft it could be when they woke up in the mornings, when she could run her fingers through it without restraint, creating a fluffy halo around his head that had them both bursting into laughter. Illya’s hair was different to the silky, almost feathery texture of her son’s--which was already darkening to a deeper colour than his father’s--but the similarities were clear to Gaby in a way they never had been before. 

From the moment her son had been handed to her in the hospital and she had stared into his tiny, scrunched-up face she had seen his father in him. The baby had squinted open his eyes and fixed her with such a familiar glare of pure annoyance that she had laughed out loud, causing the nurse to shoot her the first of many disapproving looks. In the months since, he had given Gaby enough reminders of who his father was, but to have them both in the same room now brought it all out to her in stark relief. 

Gaby felt a tear slip down her cheek, quickly followed by another. She tried to catch the sob in her throat, but Illya turned to look at her at once, his gaze wide and sorrowful, and suddenly full of understanding. “ _Gaby…_ ” 

In a moment she had stepped around the crib and into his open arms. 

“ _Gott._ I _missed_ you, Illya.” 

Gaby pushed her face further against his chest and felt her tears soak into a damp spot on his shirt, but she couldn’t care enough to pull away. Illya pressed warm fingers between her shoulder blades and rocked them gently back and forth.

“And I’m still angry with you, you know.” 

Illya tightened his arms around her and nodded against her crown. “I know.” 

“I never wanted to do this alone. I don’t want to now.” 

“Solo has been here,” Illya murmured, a strange note in his voice. “You haven’t been alone.” 

Gaby pulled back and caught Illya’s eyes in a piercing look. “I love Napoleon, and he’s helped a lot. Shockingly. But he’s not--he’s not _you_ , you idiot. You’re his father,” she gestured at the crib, “Not Napoleon, you. And you’re my… my... _du bist mein_ , okay?” 

Illya gave a jerky nod and then suddenly bent over and pressed a hot kiss to her mouth. Gaby groaned in relief and pushed up on her toes to meet him. 

“Every day.” Illya growled against her lips. “Every day for a year I thought about you, about you both, and of how much I was missing.” His arm tightened around Gaby’s waist, almost lifting her off her feet completely. “I could not think of anything else.” 

Gaby caught his bottom lip between her teeth and pulled, none too gently. “Good,” she growled back. 

There was suddenly a sound from the crib’s occupant, no louder than a yawn or a soft grunt, but Illya’s head flew up. Gaby sighed and lowered herself back to her feet, trailing a hand down Illya’s chest as she retreated from the embrace. 

“He gets his poor timing from you, I think.” 

“No,” Illya shook his head and tugged her back to the crib’s side so they could peer into it together. “Is excellent timing.” 

The baby was definitely awake, rubbing both fists into his eyes and arching his back off the mattress in a long stretch. His mouth fell open when he finally noticed the two people hovering above him, eyes darting nervously between the familiar face of his mother and the strange one. Before he could open his mouth wider to let out what Gaby was sure would be a loud howl, she reached down and tickled his stomach. “It’s alright, Alex. Time to meet your papa.”

The baby hiccupped back his cry and stuck a fist in his mouth to gum at philosophically instead. 

“Can I?” Illya gestured at the baby and Gaby nodded, pleased, and stepped back a little. Illya reached down and lifted his son slowly, carefully cradling him in both hands as if he were a live bomb. The baby looked dwarfed to newborn size again in his father’s arms, and so shocked by the stranger holding him that he couldn’t do more than stare stupefied up into Illya’s face. 

“Hello, _Сашенька_.” Illya bent his face closer as he whispered. “I have wanted to meet you for a very long time.” 

The baby’s mouth dropped open again and Gaby winced, bracing herself for a wail of indignation. But Alex merely hiccuped again and then lifted his hand and pushed it against Illya’s mouth. Gaby grinned and leaned her head against Illya’s arm. “You’re very good with him.” 

Illya’s lips pursed as he pressed a soft kiss to his son’s palm. “I have no idea what I am doing,” he admitted in a whisper. 

“And you think I do?” Gaby shrugged, and made a silly face at her son who grinned toothlessly up at her in response.

“We have time to learn.”


End file.
